


Introspective Thoughts of the Dirk Strider Kind

by oobiemcruby



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 08:48:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oobiemcruby/pseuds/oobiemcruby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Your name is DIRK and you are about to partake in a REALITY-ALTERING GAME with your three closest friends.</i><br/>An interpretation on how the events of the flash updates UNITE and SYNCHRONIZATION could have gone down from Dirk's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Introspective Thoughts of the Dirk Strider Kind

Your name is DIRK and you are about to partake in a REALITY-ALTERING GAME with your three closest friends.

To be honest, the idea scares you to death, but it’s not the reality-altering aspect, it’s the interaction with your fellow humans. Who knows? Maybe your friends are completely different to their writing styles on the internet, or are exactly like them. Sadly, it wouldn’t be the first, and definitely not the last, time that you were wrong.

The clicking and whirring that you receive from Sawtooth in reaction to whatever you say is a poor substitute for the intricacies of human expression and emotion. All that he bestows upon you is a cold metallic stare, his response to everything - a statement, an order - a response which barely shares a resemblance to the minute movements human faces hint at.

You know all this, in theory, of course, but escaping the bars of your mind’s prison cell and into the wild and wacky world the game takes you to is a struggle you did not think to factor into your chances of survival. You know your friends need your help, as there is a 0.05% chance of them surviving without it. A cold and clinical gaze, indeed, did not factor in petty emotions that you yourself questioned you even had.

Hiding behind your cool-kid exterior is the only thing that comes to mind when, though time traveling shenanigans, you manage to finally stand in front of your three best (and only) real-live human friends in the world.

You attempt, and fail, at coming up with snide remark about the ludicrous pyjamas Prospit and Derse dressed the four of you in, the yellow clashing horridly with the eyes of the dreamers, the purple jarring in all its fluorescent glory.

“Aloof and critical” is what your conscience whispers what you are being, and it shocks and surprises you when all three of them heed no warning and crash-tackle you into a group hug.

Your bars go up, a default setting in your last-ditch efforts to shy away from the contact your friends have offered you, giving you one last chance to segregate yourself from the others.

All you can manage is a squeak of surprise and robotic-like movements in response to their man handling of you. Overwhelming data comes flooding in, smells from all of them, the stink of sweat, the sickly sweet odour of alcohol and the crisp smell of the great outdoors.

After what you deem an appropriate time for a group hug, (no you’re not flushed, why would you be _flushed_ , embarrassment is for wussies _dammit_ ) you order an inventory of all things you do and don’t have.

In high contrast to what your robot creations would have replied with (a list, in alphabetical order of the afore-mentioned items) you receive grumbles and pessimistic exclamations of “We’re all gonna die anyway…”

Your amazement at these outbursts is obvious, spurring you on to contemplating the strange idiosyncrasies humans have, and to ponder whether your lack of human contact has left _you_ with none. You then wonder if your upbringing has left you trapped in forms of communication with them, as you cannot seem to _connect_ with them.

While you were thinking this, however, your friends got their act together and started listing off, all at once, what items you had. Bemusement barely covered what you were feeling in that moment, and an overwhelming sense of…could that be _fondness_? Well, whatever it was, washed over you in a wave.

With a smile which leaves your face _aching_ from the full force of it, you ask, politely you think, for them all to calm down.

Your name is DIRK , and despite the fact you are playing a REALITY-ALTERING GAME, having your friends there has unlocked your state of being, opening you to a world which is allowing you to feel what it’s really like to be a living, carbon-dioxide spewing human.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to milza for putting up with my flailings, otherwise I would never post anything ever as I can never ever come up with titles dammit.


End file.
